


Circle Back Around To You

by roebling



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: (except for the time travel thing), Canon Compliant, Dopplegangers, Explicit Language, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Smoking, Time Travel, bb!Yoongi, light fluff, light humor, predebut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 20:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: "Yoongi hyung?" Jungkook asks sleepily, standing in the other doorway, frowning.Yoongi looks up. The guy at the table looks up."Yeah?" they both say at exactly the same time.In exactly the same inflection.In exactly the same voice.





	Circle Back Around To You

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write something for the [Rare Pair Monthly Challenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BTSRarePairMonthly2018/profile) and April's Time Travel prompt was too much for me to resist. Featuring two Yoongis, because why not? I'm not actually good enough at humor to do this premise justice, but I tried /o\
> 
> Thank you to [mintea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintea/works) for the beta read and to Di for letting me natter to her about this one <3

Yoongi wakes up feeling like he's been hit by a truck. He's not hungover. He didn't stay up too late. There's no debauched excuse for feeling so shitty except that they’re in the full swing of rehearsal for this comeback and Yoongi can't handle ten hours in the practice room like he used to. 

He stretches and something in his back pops alarmingly. 

Getting to be an old fucking man, Min Yoongi, he thinks. Getting to be a bit long in the tooth. 

He gets out of bed slowly. The floor is cold. He reaches for a pair of socks and tugs them on. It's early. Too early, honestly. He should just go back to sleep, but his throat is dry and his mouth is stale. He needs a drink of water. Hoseok is always going on about the importance of drinking enough water after exercise, but Yoongi, like a moron, doesn't listen. 

He shuffles into the kitchen. He's still getting used to this big new dorm of theirs. He and Seokjin made great roommates, but there’s something to be said for having your own space. Still, it's weird to cross the big, empty living room, weird to step into the shiny modern kitchen and... 

Huh. There's someone sitting at the table. They're hunched forward, head in hands. 

Who else would be up at this hour? Jimin? Maybe, but it's not like him to come sit out here. He's more likely to be in bed reading. Besides, the hair is wrong: Jimin is still blond. The person sitting at the table has dark hair, but it's not Seokjin. It's not Namjoon. This person is too slight and short to be either of them. 

Holy fuck. It's an intruder. A fan? Yoongi takes a careful step backward. Like a moron, he left his phone in the bedroom. He’d just wanted a damn cup of water after all. Fuck his life honestly. He steps back once more.

The lights flash on. He blinks, blinded monetarily. 

"Yoongi hyung?" Jungkook asks sleepily, standing in the other doorway, frowning. 

Yoongi looks up. The guy at the table looks up. 

"Yeah?" they both say at exactly the same time. 

In exactly the same inflection. 

In exactly the same voice. 

Holy shit. 

Jungkook, eyes as wide as Yoongi has ever seen them, looks from Yoongi to the guy at the table and back again. "Um, hyung, what's going on here?" 

Yoongi — the other Yoongi, the fake Yoongi — frowns and says, "That's what I want to know. I went to sleep in my shitty dorm and woke up here. I thought maybe I hooked up with some hot rich chick, but — no offense — you're no hot chick. Who the fuck are you, anyway? Where the hell am I?" 

Yoongi closes his eyes. This has to be a hallucination brought on by stress or lack of sleep or diet. 

"Hyung," Jungkook says. "Hyung, it's me. It's Jungkook." 

The other Yoongi narrows his eyes. "Jeon Jungkook?" He tilts his head to the side. "Damn kid," he says. "You grew up well." 

Yoongi — the real fucking Yoongi, goddamn it — closes his eyes. This has to be a dream— no, a nightmare.

He opens his eyes. Jungkook and the other Yoongi are staring at him.

Fuck.

****** 

After Namjoon is done laughing (twenty fucking minutes, the asshole) he calls a group meeting. They're all gathered around the kitchen table with the imposter Yoongi at the head. Seokjin looks bemused. Hoseok looks delighted. Jimin is sitting on the floor looking dazed and Taehyung keeps glancing between the fake Yoongi and real Yoongi like he's half expecting this to be some kind of hidden camera prank. 

"So," Namjoon says, leaning back against the counter. "Yoongi-ssi — you are Min Yoongi, right?" 

It’s a pointless question. He looks _exactly_ like Yoongi did six or seven years ago. Yoongi remembers owning that shirt. 

Imposter Yoongi nods. "Who else would I be?" 

"Yoongi-ssi, how did you get here?" 

Imposter Yoongi shrugs lazily. "I don't know," he says. "I snuck out of the dorm to go see a friend of mine perform. Had a few drinks, watched a few sets, and then snuck back. I went to bed and then I woke up here, wherever this is." He narrows his eyes. "You were there," he says, pointing at Namjoon, "And you." Hoseok. "And you." He says, pointing at Jungkook. Then he looks over at Yoongi, scowling. "And you're me, huh?" 

"No, kid," Yoongi says. "You're _me_. I'm the goddamn original." 

"Hey," Imposter Yoongi says, getting a little hot. "I don't know who the hell you are but I'm the original. I'm..." 

"Okay," Namjoon says placidly. "Okay. Calm down, Yoongi. Both of you." 

Imposter Yoongi glowers but he folds his arms over his chest and flops back in his seat.

"Yoongi-ssi, I'm really sorry, but what you're telling us doesn't make any sense. This _is_ our dorm." 

Taehyung, sitting on the floor, pipes up. "Yoongi hyung, what's today's date?" 

Imposter Yoongi gives Taehyung a sidelong glance. "June 29th, 2011," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Oh my god," Hoseok says, delighted. "Are you telling me that you're _eighteen years old_?" 

Imposter Yoongi glares. The expression is not as intimidating as Yoongi thought it had been, back then. "Yeah," he says. "So what?" 

"Hyung, you were so cute," Jimin says, unhelpfully. 

Everyone starts talking all at once. Namjoon starts interrogating Imposter Yoongi, asking him questions about their old dorm and shit from the old days, like there's some other explanation for how Yoongi's doppelgänger ended up in their kitchen. Hoseok says something about sun flares and Seokjin cackles and says they should get Yoongi to take a picture with himself and post it on Twitter. Taehyung and Jimin are babbling about how cute the imposter looks. Everyone is talking all at once and it’s too loud, too much.

Only Jungkook is silent, staring, considering. 

And Yoongi. 

He wants to die by the quickest and least painful method possible. Preferably the ground will open up and swallow him whole. 

"Okay," Namjoon says finally. "Okay. So. I believe that you're Min Yoongi, but how did you get here?" 

Imposter Yoongi shrugs. "Got me," he says. He turns to Yoongi. "You didn't make some stupid fucking wish or something did you?" 

"What? To be an eighteen year old moron?" Yoongi snorts. "Not likely." 

Imposter Yoongi glares again. He really needs to learn a few new emotions. 

"What are we going to do with him?" Taehyung asks, frowning. 

"Nobody needs to do anything with me," Imposter Yoongi says, frowning. "I'm an adult. I can—" 

"Oh my god," Seokjin says. "We can't let him out of our sight." 

Namjoon nods. "Someone's going to have to look after him," he says. 

In unison then, six heads turn toward Yoongi. 

"What?" he says. "No. I'm not..." 

Hoseok grins. "You're the natural choice, hyung. Who else could put up with you but... you?" 

Yoongi is about to protest again when Jungkook speaks up. "I'll help you, hyung. I can keep an eye on him too," he says. "I can help watch Yoongi hyung." 

Namjoon stares at him a moment, head cocked, typical quizzical Namjoon expression on his face, like he's just remembering that their maknae isn't eighteen himself anymore. 

It's understandable. Yoongi forgets sometimes too.

Sometimes, it's for the best if he just forgets that Jungkook isn't a kid anymore. 

"Okay," Namjoon says. "You keep an eye on him, Jungkook-ah. I don’t trust Yoongi hyung alone with himself anyway." 

Imposter Yoongi glowers at them, surly. "I don't need any kid looking after me," he mutters. 

"I'm technically older than you are," Jungkook says cheerfully. "I think that means you need to call me hyung." 

The imposter looks like he's trying to shoot laser beams from his eyes. The floor still hasn't opened up to swallow Yoongi. It's barely fucking six o'clock in the morning. He needs caffeine to deal with this. 

"Fuck it," he mutters, and he shuffles over to the sink to put on water. “Who wants coffee?”

*****

After the coffee is done, Yoongi pours himself a cup and retreats to his room. His head is pounding and he’s still clinging to a faint hope that he’ll wake up and find this has all been a terrible dream. 

No such luck. He can hear them all out there talking and laughing. It sends fucking shivers down his spine when he hears his own voice — distinct but faint. He cringes when he hears himself laugh. Has he always sounded so frog-like? Jesus. 

A shower is a prerequisite for any further course of action, he decides. They have three bathrooms in this place and no shortage of hot water, but showers are still kept to a minimum out of courtesy. To hell with courtesy today, Yoongi thinks, turning the hot water up so that the bathroom fills with steam. He stands under the scalding spray for a long time, letting water runs own his back, run down his face, soothe some of the ache from his pitiful old man muscles. Only when he’s thoroughly prune-y does he shut off water and wrap himself in a towel. He goes back to his room and locks the door and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and hoodie. No point in dressing up. Thank god they’re between comebacks and he doesn’t have any schedules. He brushes his hair — bleached so many fucking times it’s like straw now — and puts on his glasses and glares at himself in the mirror. 

What did you do, moron? What the fuck did you do this time, Min Yoongi?

It's suspiciously quiet when Yoongi — the real fucking Yoongi, goddamnit — creeps out of his room. There's nobody in the living room. It’s still early but Namjoon went to the studio (a clever ploy to get Manager hyung out of the apartment). Jimin and Taehyung left earlier for some appointment. He can hear the melodic twang of Seokjin's guitar — he's in his room. Hoseok has disappeared somewhere in that mysterious way he does sometimes. 

They, however, aren't who Yoongi is interested in.

He lurks in the kitchen, hovering outside of Jungkook's door, but he can't hear anything. 

What the fuck are they doing in there? 

It's not that Yoongi doesn't trust Jungkook. 

He doesn't trust himself. 

He leans closer and presses his ear to the door, but he can't hear any better. Fuck. Is that even a thing or just something people in movies do? He’s still frowning at the door in frustration when it swings open suddenly, catching him on the forehead. 

"Fuck," he mutters, bringing a hand to his head. "Fuck." 

"Yoongi hyung?" Jungkook's eyes are wide and he's at Yoongi's side in a moment. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" 

"Fine," Yoongi says, "Fine." His eye is watering, and he's probably going to have a bruise. 

Imposter Yoongi laughs. "What the fuck were you doing lurking behind the door?" 

"I was coming to see what you were doing.” 

Jungkook frowns at him. "Are you sure you're okay, hyung? That sounded like it hurt." 

"Yeah Jungkook," Yoongi says. "I’m fine." 

He doesn't feel fine. 

"So what are you two doing?" 

Imposter Yoongi leans back. He's wearing his hair all spiked up, and it looks awful. Why had Yoongi ever thought that looked cool?

"Jungkook here was telling me he likes to work out," the imposter says. "I like to pump a little iron myself, so I asked him if I could tag along." He looks Yoongi up and down slowly. "Guess that's a habit I haven't kept up." 

"Hey, fuck you," Yoongi says. He's about to say something about the accident — his shattered shoulder, the lie he told, the long recovery — but then he pauses, mouth snapping shut. He can't tell this kid what's going to happen him. It wouldn't be fair. Right? "I'm in great shape." 

"Why don't you come with us then?" Imposter Yoongi asks. 

"No, hyung," Jungkook says. "You don't have to —" 

"Fine," Yoongi says. "I’ll come.” He immediately curses himself. Both of himselves. Fuck. He's such an idiot. He _hates_ the gym. 

*****

Yoongi hasn't forgotten that he had a gym rat stage. It's just been so long — and so much has transpired in between — that he hadn't been thinking of how at age eighteen he'd spent hours in the weight room, listening to the angriest music he could find and pushing himself until the ache in muscles and bones matched the ache in his heart. 

Damn. That's a good line. He should write that down. 

Anyway, it's been a long time and one serious shoulder injury since he's worked out seriously. He's really not in bad shape or anything — they have plenty of dance practice and he will even drag himself reluctantly out for a run every once in a while — but it's still a little jarring in a very bad way when Imposter Yoongi changes into the tank top and sweatpants that Jungkook lends him and Yoongi can _see_ the breadth in his shoulder, the solid muscle in his arms and chest. 

He forgets what it felt like to look like that.

Yoongi, in an oversized tee and gym shorts, crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. 

Imposter Yoongi is on the weight bench doing French curls. His biceps and triceps stand out, straining. Jungkook hovers nearby. He steps forward and makes some small adjustment to Imposter Yoongi's grip. Imposter Yoongi smiles up at him — the same too wide smile that Yoongi has seen in the mirror a million times — and says something, and whatever it is must be amusing because Jungkook smiles back. 

Goddamnit. 

Yoongi is on the treadmill, warming up at a moderate pace. He really doesn’t want to run but he also don’t want to look totally pathetic, so he kicks up the speed a few clicks, working up to an easy jog. This is fine, he thinks. It's nice to go for a run. Work out a little of his stress. He doesn't care what Jungkook and that imposter do. He doesn't care how fondly Jungkook looks at him. He doesn't care that, when he glances at the mirrored wall, he can see that Jungkook and Imposter Yoongi have changed places, so that the imposter is spotting now, hands hovering just over Jungkook's shoulders. 

Fucker. Yoongi knows himself, and he knows how he was at eighteen. That asshole knows exactly what he's doing. 

He averts his eyes. On the video screen, a bucolic landscape rolls past. He's running through the Italian Alps, zooming past impossibly scenic alpine meadows and towering slate gray peaks at an inflated speed. He's already gone a half a mile — hey, that's pretty good. He turns his volume up louder and ups the speed on the treadmill and tries to resist the urge to look in the mirror again. Focus on the fluffy clouds, Min Yoongi. Focus on the sparkling lake. Oh look! There's a quaint tumble down cottage! Don't look up. Don't look up. Don't— 

"He's getting water," someone says, from the next machine over. 

Yoongi looks up, meets his _own_ gaze in the mirror. His own, and yet not. It's uncanny, really. They're the same fucking person but this imposter wears his features all wrong. Is that really what he looks like? Is his expression really so smug? 

"Huh?" he asks, gasping. The imposter is fresh faced and cool, but Yoongi is a red-faced sweaty mess. 

"Jungkook is getting some water," the imposter says. 

Yoongi slows his treadmill down to a more comfortable pace. "Oh," Yoongi says, frowning. "Whatever. I'm not his keeper." 

The imposter shrugs. "Didn't say you were. Just noticed you checking out where he went. You keep a pretty close eye on him, huh?”

Yoongi frowns. That's not true. It just seems to work out that he's always standing beside Jungkook. It just seems to happen that his hands find Jungkook's waist so easily, or that they always come to rest on his shoulder. Jungkook is the maknae, and for a while at least Yoongi was the oldest, and it just became habit at some point to make sure that the kid was doing okay. 

"No I don’t," Yoongi says slowly. 

"I was surprised when I realized who he was," the imposter says in his lazy drawl. "I just met the kid, remember? He's been living with us a month and he'll still barely say a word to me. Never figured he'd make it this far.” 

Yoongi feels anger rise up in his chest, like heartburn after too much spicy chicken. He remembers, is the thing. Of course he fucking remembers. Angry, then, still, that he was going to be in an _idol group_. Angry at the company and at himself and at Namjoon. At everything. Even at the dopey little kid with the big nose who was somehow supposed to be their main vocalist. 

Yeah. He remembers. 

"Well," Yoongi says slowly. "I guess you don't know as much as you think you do, kid." 

The imposter look at him with narrow eyes. "You don't have to get so defensive, grandpa." He shrugs. "So you make good. Little Jungkook grows up and gets hot. Whoop-de-fucking-doo." 

Yoongi feels hot and gross and angry, so angry. "Leave him the fuck alone," he mutters. 

The imposter smirks. "No need to get defensive."

Yoongi plods along for a few moments. On the video screen, he's climbing up towards the crest of a rise. Grey gorse and lichen cover the rocks to either side of the mountain road. Up and up he plods, and then he reaches the top and a panorama opens before him: picture postcard village nestled in the soft green folds of a valley. Tiny church and sparkling river swollen with snowmelt. It's all very Sound of Music, but when he looks up for real he's still in the stinky gym running next to the nightmare teenage version of himself. 

God. 

"You think he's hot," the imposter says, "and it kills you, doesn't it?" 

Yoongi swallows. His throat is all dry. "Fuck you," he mutters. 

The imposter throws his head back and laughs. "At least you're not dumb enough to lie to me," he says. "Want to know how I know you have such a boner for him?" 

Yoongi doesn't want to know. He wants this little asshole _gone_ is what he wants. 

"I know because I'm _you_ , grandpa," the imposter says. "The slightly less rusty version, anyway, and Jeon Jungkook is totally my type." 

Fuck. Fuck fuck. "Don't you dare." 

"Here, hyung!" Jungkook bounds up, full of too much energy, holding a sweating bottle of water. He holds it out to Yoongi, who takes it and drinks thankfully. 

"Isn't this fun?" Jungkook says, grinning, bunny teeth and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He turns his beam in Yoongi's direction and says, "You need to start coming with me more often." 

The imposter smirks, impossibly smug. 

"Ah," Yoongi says, cornered. "Yeah. Sure, Jungkook-ah." 

Jungkook's smile grows a hundred watts brighter. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

*****

“Being a idol is fucking boring,” the imposter groans. 

He, Jungkook, and Yoongi are sitting in the living room of the dorm. They’re back from the gym and all washed up, and Yoongi is honestly just enjoying having a few minutes to sit here and not do or say or think anything. 

Of course, this zit-faced teenager can’t appreciate a few moments of calm. 

Jungkook laughs. “It’s not boring, Yoongi-ya,” he says, having decided to take advantage of the fact that this Yoongi, at least, is two years younger than him. 

The imposter, lying flat on his back on the floor, waves an idle hand. “Shouldn’t you be out, you know?” 

“What?” Yoongi asks, flatly. He remembers being eighteen, remembers vaguely what he thought the trappings of wealth and fame were: nice cars and beautiful women and fine expensive things. 

The imposter shrugs. “Partying. Scoring chicks. I don’t know.”

Yoongi buries his face in his hands out of mortification. He isn’t sure he’s ever scored a chick in his life, and he knows he didn’t by age eighteen. 

Jungkook just laughs. “Do you want to go score some chicks, Yoongi-ya?” 

The imposter’s cheeks go red. “ _I’m_ not the idol,” he says, a little too quickly. He frowns. It looks more like a pout. “What’s the point of being rich and famous if you’re just going to sit around this dumb apartment and watch re-runs of Running Man?” 

Jungkook nods thoughtfully. “There’s a new pair of sneakers I’ve been wanting to go pick up.” He glances over at Yoongi. “What do you think, hyung? Can we take him shopping? That should be safe enough.” 

Yoongi _hates_ shopping. Really doesn’t see the point. You can buy just about anything you want or need online these days. He opens his mouth to protest but the imposter sits up, eyes wide and full of a strange, eager light. 

Yoongi closes his eyes. He’d pissed off his parents and blown off his education and gotten a one way ticket to Seoul, and in his wildest dreams he’d never hoped for the kind of success and wealth they’ve found now. It sounds bad, maybe. Selfish. But he’d wanted to stick it to his doubting family and friends and to the whole entire world: everyone who said he wouldn’t make it. 

It wouldn’t hurt to give the kid a taste of the fame he craves so bad. Right?

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that should be fine.”

“Nice,” the imposter says, unable to conceal his adolescent enthusiasm. “Jungkook-ah, what kind of sneakers are you going to get? Where are we going to go? Are you going to—” 

Yoongi’s headache is suddenly back in full force. 

Yoongi loans the kid some real clothes. He’d shown up in sweat pants and Jungkook might be able to loan him gym shorts and stuff but Yoongi would swim in Jungkook’s real clothes. He digs a pair of jeans and a sweater out of his dresser and shoves them at the kid. It’s only when he’s done changing that Yoongi realizes they’re wearing almost the damn thing.

“We can be pretend to be twins,” Imposter Yoongi says. “You’re not too wrinkly, yet, gramps.” 

Yoongi takes a deep breath and changes his sweater for a tee shirt. 

Jungkook meets them in the living room, looking sleek and fashionable in dark denim and a bomber jacket. 

“Face masks?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “Good thinking.” 

They keep a pack by the door, and Jungkook grabs three. 

“Here,” Yoongi says, handing one to the imposter. 

“Why do I need this?” He asks, frowning at it. “I’m not sick. Bad air quality today or something?” 

Jungkook chokes out a little laugh. 

Terrible visions run through Yoongi’s mind of the bare-faced imposter getting recognized by fans in a crowded street. He’s not sure if he’d feel worse for the kid or for the fans, honestly. 

“Just trust me,” he says. “Keep it while we’re on the street, okay, kid? If you do I’ll treat you to lunch. Barbecue.” 

The imposter grumbles but doesn’t protest. Thank god for teenagers and their big appetites. 

They take the subway. It’s been a while since Yoongi’s been on a train and he enjoys it. He’s always liked public transportation. He remembers with a pang how poor he’d been when he’d been the kid’s age. He’d had to choose between dinner and a bus ticket on more than one occasion, and dinner had usually won. The busses, looking impossibly warm and snug inside, passed him as he trudged home through the chill, dim evening.

He can’t say he still has the same rosy opinion of Seoul city buses, but then it’s been even longer since he rode one of those. 

They take the train to Apgujung. Jungkook amuses the imposter by telling him about tour mishaps: a safe enough topic, maybe, but Yoongi can see the way the kid’s eyes go sharp. He’s drinking in every detail.

Well. If they create some kind of rupture in the fabric of space-time and are consumed by a black hole or something, at least he’ll get out of shopping. 

It’s a beautiful spring day, though, and by the time they’re back out on the streets Yoongi’s not feeling too bad. The sky is blue and flowers are on the trees, and the streets are full of happy people strolling and walking. Yoongi doesn’t know this area well, but Jungkook seems to know exactly where he’s going. He trails along a few steps behind as Jungkook and the kid talk excitedly about something. 

The store is one of those places that Yoongi hates. Sleek and expensive and full of things he can’t— couldn’t— afford, he’s never felt welcome in places like this. The state of his wallet has changed, but that same unease settles over him. He glances at the kid, who is watching him, frowning, face mask hanging off one ear. He feels it too. They grimace at each other and then the kid looks away. 

It’s weird to know exactly what he’s thinking. Yoongi can’t hear his thoughts or anything, but he doesn’t need to. The kid is _him_.

Jungkook is gazing raptly at a wall full of extremely ugly sneakers. They look like tires with the air let out, Yoongi thinks, but what does he knows? Apparently they’re the height of fashion; they certainly cost enough. 

“Is he really going to buy those?” 

Yoongi jumps. He hadn’t realized the kid was standing beside him. 

He shrugs. “Yeah, probably.” 

The imposter frowns. “They’re W500,000.” 

The frown pulls the corners of his mouth down in a distinctly frog-like way. Yoongi makes a mental note never to frown like that again. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says.

The imposter’s frown grows smaller but more pensive. He stares at his feet. “Jesus. I’ve been eating noodles for dinner for the last week.” 

Yoongi remembers those hollow-bellied days. He’d never been hungry, exactly, but he’d eaten a lot of cheap, junky food. Kimbap and instant ramen. Egg sandwiches from the cart on the corner near the dorm. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “I remember.” 

“What do you spend your money on?” The imposter’s voice is rusty razor blade sharp. “What? This hoodie cost W200,000 or something?” 

“Huh?” Yoongi glances down at himself. His sweatshirt is black and totally nondescript. “No. No. I don’t— Recording equipment, mostly, I guess? I don’t really give a shit what I wear.” 

“I can tell,” the imposter snaps.

Right. That’s how his brain worked, back then. Insult insult insult. Yoongi ignores it. 

“We get clothes for free,” he says quietly. “You’ll see. After you debut, even at the very beginning, people will give you things for free. Not really for free. There’s always something they want in exchange, but having to wear an ugly sweater to the airport isn’t that big of a deal.” 

The imposter frowns. “That sounds so…” 

“What?” 

The imposter shrugs. “Cheap, I guess.” 

“It’s not like that,” Yoongi says, unable and unwilling to explain. Wearing sponsored clothes is the very least of all the compromises he’s had to make.

The kid looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn't have the chance.

“Can I help you gentleman with anything?” 

A clerk, looming. He is wearing very strong cologne and is much taller than is necessary. Fucking tall people, Yoongi thinks. 

“We’re good,” he says. “Just waiting for our buddy over there.” He nods in Jungkook’s direction. 

Jungkook notices him looking and smiles. “Hyung, come here. Do you think Hoseok hyung would like these? Are they too ugly?” 

He’s holding up a pale of puke green sneakers with deflated tire soles. 

“I think they’re just ugly enough,” Yoongi says honestly. 

The clerk’s eyes widen. Apparently he hadn’t realized they’d were friends of a VIP. 

“Excuse us,” the imposter says shortly, brushing past the looming clerk. 

Damn. Kid’s got the brush off perfected. Yoongi doesn’t remember being that smooth at his age. Good for him. 

They go and look at the sneakers Jungkook has picked out. 

“I can’t decide between these two,” he says, pouting, pointing to two nearly identical pairs of sneakers. One is a slightly paler shade of grey. The other has a black stripe down the side. 

“Get them both,” Yoongi say. 

Jungkook bites his lower lip. Fuck. Yoongi hates when he does that. It’s not fair. “Should I?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Give the extra pair to Namjoon,” he says.

Jungkook perks up. “Oh, great idea,” he says. “You’re so smart, hyung.” 

Yoongi can’t help but preen a bit, basking in Jungkook’s praise. “Well,” he says. “Yeah.” 

Imposter Yoongi snorts. 

Whatever. He just wishes Jungkook had called _him_ smart. 

They escape the sneaker store with relatively minimal damage — apart from Jungkook’s wallet. It’s a relief to step out of the dark, close store with its weird perfumed air and into the bright crisp afternoon. Jungkook’s shoeboxes bang against his leg. The breeze shakes the blossom-laden branches. Yoongi feels weird and pleased — although he’s not sure why. The imposter is quiet, withdrawn into some internal meditation. 

“Where now, Jungkook-ah?” Yoongi asks, throwing his arm over Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook turns and looks at him, quick and nervous, but then eases into Yoongi’s touch. 

“I’m hungry,” the imposter whines. He’s been patient this whole time, but now he sounds very young. “Can’t we get lunch?” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Teenagers. “Yeah,” he says.

*****

They end up in a nice little barbeque place tucked down a back alley. Jungkook says he’s been here before and it’s good, and they go with his recommendation. The hostess gives them a table in the back corner at Jungkook's request. When they're out like this — dressed casually and wearing face masks — they rarely get recognized, but it's better to be safe than sorry. 

They order the lunch special. It's pretty pricey, but whatever. The kid deserves a good meal. It's not too long before the meat is sizzling deliciously on the hot grill. Jungkook tends it carefully, making sure not to let it cook unevenly or get burnt. When the first pieces are done, it takes the biggest, juiciest piece and holds it out to the kid. 

"Here," he says, smiling, all red-cheeked from the heat. "You first, Yoongi-ya. You're our guest." 

The kid looks suspicious but he takes the beef with his chopsticks, adds a little sauce, and then puts it atop a spoonful of fluffy rice before swallowing the whole thing down.

"Damn," he says, mouth full. "That's good." 

Jungkook laughs at him, but he gives the kid another piece before he serves himself. 

It's cozy, honestly. It's nice. The kid engages in several rather transparent and guileless attempts to extract more information. Have they won on a music show? Yes. That seems safe enough to say. Have they played concerts? Where? Overseas? How many countries? 

"Overseas?" Yoongi drawls, when the last question is posed to them. "Kid, we've played concerts on the moon." 

Imposter Yoongi’s eyes go wide for just a moment before he realizes he's being had. "Fuck you," he mutters, before stuffing more food in his face. 

Finally, stomach full, Yoongi leans back in his seat. He's a little too warm and a little sleepy. He hadn't meant to wake up so early. God. Has it only been half a day? He feels like he's been watching this punk version of himself forever. 

“That was so good,” the kid says, hands on his belly, eyes half closed. “Fuck. Maybe being an idol is worth it if you get to eat like this.” 

Jungkook and Yoongi glance at each other, quick, just the barest shared moment of sympathy and sadness and humor. Eat like this? Sometimes, maybe. They can afford it, and sometimes there is enough time and they’re not eating chicken breast to fit in some dumb stage costume and Yoongi’s stomach isn’t upset from too much coffee and… 

“Don’t get used to it, kid,” Yoongi says, gruffly. 

“Aw,” Jungkook says, smiling. “Leave him alone, hyung. This is like a vacation, right, Yoongi-ya?” 

The kid smiles nods, suddenly serious. “No kidding,” he says. “I was supposed to work today. Hope those assholes don’t fire me.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook says, eyes going wide. “Do you think they will? Maybe you can tell them you were sick. We could get you a doctor’s note.” 

They both laugh at Jungkook’s little joke, exactly the same laugh at exactly the same moment. Yoongi’s mouth snaps shut. The kid’s laugher dies, and he scowls. They glare at each other, and then the kid slides his eyes away and says, “Gotta piss.” 

When he’s disappeared around the corner to the bathroom, Jungkook looks at Yoongi and grins, delighted. “You were so cute.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi mutters. “Well, thankfully I grew out of it.” 

Jungkook snorts. “Don’t kid yourself, hyung.” 

Yoongi scowls, mock annoyed. “What? You’re not terrified of me?” 

“I was back then,” Jungkook says, a little wistfully. “I was terrified of all of you, but, I mean, you were _Suga_. You were so cool and such a good rapper and…” He sighs again and then reaches over and pats Yoongi’s cheek. “I had no idea what a softie you really were.” 

Yoongi bats his hand away, frowning. “Who’s a softie?” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. He’s too busy thinking of how warm Jungkook’s palm is, how he’d had a sudden and irrational urge to press his cheek against it, like a cat. 

“It took me weeks to work up the nerve to talk to you,” Jungkook says, a little embarrassed, maybe, of how shy he’d been. 

He doesn’t need to be embarrassed. Within six months Yoongi had been thoroughly charmed by Jungkook’s drive and talent. 

“And now you won’t leave me alone,” Yoongi says.

Jungkook is smiling, staring down at the table. His eyelashes are so long they cast shadows on his cheeks. “Do you want me to, hyung? Leave you alone, I mean.” 

No. Yoongi doesn’t want that. “Would you? Even if I did?” 

Jungkook laughs. “Probably not,” 

Yoongi huffs. “Punk,” he says, not hiding his satisfaction very well.

“What’s so funny?” The other Yoongi is back from the bathroom, damn him. 

“Nothing,” Jungkook says, smiling. “Hey, do you want to go get some ice cream?” 

The kid’s stern face melts. “Sure,” he says, and he looks so young then that Yoongi’s heart hurts. Fuck. 

“Let’s go,” Jungkook says, getting up from the table, grabbing his bags. “Hyung, you got the check, right?” 

“Hey!” Yoongi protests, even though he had agreed to treat. The kids don’t stop for him though. They’re out the door and into the sunshine before Yoongi even gets up. Punks, he thinks fondly. He arches his back, stretching through the ache, and reaches for his wallet.

*****

The lady at the ice cream shop recognizes them. Of course. 

It’s midday on a Wednesday and the place isn’t busy, at least. Thank god for small blessings. "Oh," Jungkook says, frowning. "I don't know if I want sesame or green tea." 

The kid comes up on his other side. "You get one," he says, "And I'll get the other. We can share." 

Jungkook's eyes light up. "That's a great idea. You're so smart, Yoongi-ya." 

The little punk preens. 

Jungkook steps up to the counter. "We'll have one sesame cone and one green tea, cone, please. And oh, hyung, want do you want?" 

Yoongi's stomach feels sour, and he's not really feeling much like ice cream at all. "I'll just get vanilla," he says. 

"And a vanilla cone," Jungkook concludes, smiling. 

Something funny happens to the woman's face when Jungkook smiles. He's not made up, and his skin is a little spotty right now. His hair is a mess and his face mask is dangling from one ear and he looks like a big goof but he also looks _good_ in that glossy shiny way he does sometimes.

"Oh," she says, face growing very red. "You're..." Her eyes flick over to Yoongi, and then to the kid. 

Jungkook brings a finger to his lips. "Do you want a picture?" he asks. "Yoongi hyung's — ahh, cousin can take it for us." 

Imposter Yoongi, demoted to cousin, narrows his eyes. Thank god he kept his mask on. 

So before they get their ice cream they have to take a picture with the woman, who says she's a huge fan, who seems to be almost vibrating with excitement. It's fine. It's nice. It's flattering, and honestly Yoongi is used to it, almost. Still, it's satisfying to see the awe in the kid's eyes when the woman nearly cries when Jungkook puts an arm around her shoulder. 

She tries to give them the ice cream for free, but Jungkook insists on paying. It's a beautiful day out, but Yoongi isn't in the mood for any more fan encounters, so they sit inside at a little table. Jungkook's knee keeps brushing his, and if Yoongi didn't know better he'd say it was intentional.

The kid can't seem to get over the fact that they were recognized. "Damn," he keeps saying. "Damn. She knew who you were." 

Jungkook smiles, wrinkling his nose. "Did you think we were lying to you?" 

"No," the kid says. "Is it weird? Being recognized like that?" 

Yoongi shakes his head. "Not really," he says. "It's not like we're usually strolling around Hongdae, anyway. I can't remember the last time I had an entire day free to just do... whatever. Namjoon's a saint for covering for us." 

The kid doesn't look like he's buying it. "I don't think I'd like it," he says, glancing sidelong at Yoongi. "I don't want people bothering for my autograph. That's so... lame." He glances over at Jungkook, who is halfway through his sesame ice cream. "Here, Jungkook-ah, let's trade now." 

Jungkook looks up, eyes bright. "Sure," he says. 

They swap ice cream cones. The kid's is meltier and some of it runs down onto Jungkook's hand, onto his wrist. He looks around, flustered, but they're out of napkins. 

Yoongi sighs. He gets up and walks over to the counter to get more, and then wets one of them with water from his cup and gently wipes the sticky ice cream from Jungkook's hand. He has smooth, slim-fingered hands with neat, well maintained nails. Yoongi's thumb rests just on his pulse point for a second, and he can feel the fluttering of Jungkook's heart. He looks up, and Jungkook looks at him, and he's not smiling anymore. The corners of his mouth are turned down, and his lips are slightly parted, and it looks as if he wants to ask a question. 

There is ice cream on his mouth. 

Yoongi pulls his hands away. "Here," he says, handing Jungkook another napkin. "You're a mess today, Jungkookie." 

"Sorry, hyung," Jungkook mumbles, wiping his mouth. His cheeks are a little red. 

The kid scoffs. "Get a room," he mutters. 

Yoongi cuts him a sharp look. Idiot doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. 

They finish their ice cream. Yoongi doesn't want all of his, so he gives it to the kid, who doesn't yet have to worry about his face looking like an undercooked dumpling when he puts on a few kilos. 

Jungkook gets up to use the restroom and Yoongi takes out his phone. He has a message from Namjoon. 

_How's it going??_

_Fine_

_Haven't killed each other yet?!!_

_Jungkook is fine_

_No. I mean you and... you, hyung_

Yoongi glances up. The kid is still kicking his goddamn chair. 

_Oh. Not yet._

_Be patient with him. He's just a kid._

_Yeah, yeah_

_Fighting, hyung!!_

Yoongi snorts. He'd like to see Namjoon deal with his eighteen year old self. Jesus. His hair alone had almost been too much to manage. 

He sticks his phone back in his pocket and looks up. The kid's head is cocked, and he's got a funny expression on his face. 

"What?" Yoongi mutters. "What's wrong now?" 

"Is this...?" The kid trails off. 

Yoongi listens. Oh. Shit.

Spring Day. 

They are both quiet until the song ends. 

"Well?" Yoongi asks then. 

The kid's expression is strange, full of some turbulent emotion. "It's not bad." 

Yoongi snorts. "Jeeze. Thanks, kid." 

The kid shrugs. "It's still generic pop bullshit but it wasn't bad. I liked your verse." 

"Thanks," Yoongi says, laughing. 

"'I'll erase you because it will hurt less than resenting you', huh?" the kid says, and his eyes are dark and strange. 

"Just lyrics, kid," Yoongi mutters. "Don't read too much into it." 

The kid doesn't buy it. He knows better. 

Jungkook comes back then. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, wide eyed. 

"You were on the radio, superstar," the kid says. 

"Spring Day," Yoongi says. 

"Ahh," Jungkook says. "Yeah, that one is still charting pretty well considering how old it is." 

He tosses it out so casually, as if it's nothing for a song of theirs to be charting more than a year after release.

It isn’t really, now, for them, but he can see the awe in Imposter Yoongi’s eyes. It makes Yoongi more satisfied than it has any right to. 

They head outside into the sunshine. The afternoon is ripe now, and the sun is warm honey on Yoongi’s bare skin. 

“There’s this place near here that Taehyung hyung took me to one time that I want to check out,” Jungkook says, glancing up and down the street. “Is that okay?” 

“Fine by me,” Yoongi drawls, feeling loose and happy. “Kid?” 

Imposter Yoongi looks up, as if surprised to be addressed. “Not like I have any say in the matter, right?” he mutters.

Jungkook ruffles the imposter’s hair. It doesn’t work so well. Kid uses too much hair gel. Yoongi had a line item in his budget for that, back in the day. 

“Don’t say that, Yoongi-ya,” Jungkook says. “We’re all having a great time, aren’t we?” 

Yoongi and the kid glance at each other. Great time? Well…

“Yeah,” the imposter says, brushing Jungkook’s hand away. “Great time. Sure.” 

Jungkook beams then and slides one arm over the imposter’s shoulder and the other over Yoongi’s. “Wow,” he says. “You two are the perfect height for arm rests.” 

“Hey!” The imposter protests. 

“Punk,” Yoongi mutters, but he’s smiling in spite of himself, and trying to ignore the fluttery warm feeling in his chest. Goddamnit. 

*****

The next destination on their little shopping tour is _very_ Taehyung. It’s a vintage shop, but it’s not filled with the typical junk. It’s a _designer_ vintage shop, and the Chanel bags and Dior dresses hanging in the window are even more expensive than their modern counterparts. 

This doesn’t seem like Jungkook’s kind of place, honestly. He’s developed his own subtle sense of style, sure, but he doesn't usually go in for the ostentatious or outlandish, like Hoseok or Taehyung might. Still, it’s an interesting place to browse, and even the musty closet smell of the old clothes is endearing, somehow. 

Yoongi turns over a pair of silly old wingtip shoes. They’re not even nice or anything. Just old. They look like something he’d see his grandfather wearing in old pictures, when he and his grandmother used to get dressed up and go out. The leather soles are worn rough. They’ve seen a lot of miles, these shoes. They’ve been around the block a time or two. 

The older he gets, the more Yoongi appreciates the charms of wear and age. When he was a kid, he had no time for things like this. He’d just wanted everything new, new, new. The newest and the best and the brightest. 

Sure enough.

“You’re not going to buy those, are you?” The imposter asks, frowning. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, deadpan. “For our next comeback. The concept is ‘Grandfather chic’.” 

The kid frowns, eyebrows knit. “You’re fucking with me, right?” 

Yoongi snorts. “Of course I’m fucking with you,” he says. “How many times am I going to get to take the shit out of _myself_? I’ve got to savor this opportunity.” 

The kid narrows his eyes. “You’re an asshole, you know?” 

Yoongi laughs. “Look in a mirror, kid.” 

He steps closer, picks up a pair of ugly boots. They aren’t even the right size. 

“What is your next comeback concept?” Imposter Yoongi asks. The curiosity must be killing him, for him to ask that. 

Yoongi frowns. “It’s not really…” He takes a deep breath. “It’s not really like that,” he says. “Over the last couple of years we’ve put out a series of interconnected songs and MVs. They kind of tell a story.” 

“Whose story?” The kid is quick, jumping in with the next question before Yoongi’s words are even out of his mouth. 

Yoongi shrugs. “Bang CEO’s,” he says. “Or the art department. I don’t know.” 

“Not our story,” he says, voice plaintive. 

“No,” Yoongi agrees. “Not my story.” 

They flip through a rack of jackets and blazers. Cheap stuff, mostly, but there a few nice pieces slipped in amidst the chaff. Yoongi pulls an ivory silk blazer with the most subtle of teal pinstripes off the rack. It’s old and beautiful, but nothing he’d ever wear. 

“What are you going to do with that?” The kid asks. 

“Just looking,” Yoongi says mildly. “Would have worked with Blood Sweat & Tears, though.” 

“What’s that? A song? Will you let me listen to that one? What about the one we heard in the cafe? Can I listen to that again? It’s our music, isn’t it? I should be able to listen to it.” 

It’s not our music, Yoongi wants to say. A little of it is mine, but _you_ haven’t made any of it yet. Instead he just shakes his head. “Not sure that’s a good idea,” he says. “I tell you to much and who knows? I don’t want anyone to start disappearing on me.”

Imposter Yoongi rolls his eyes. “This isn’t Back to the Future,” he says. He sighs. "Besides, how do you even know I’m _you_?”

Yoongi looks at him — this broad shouldered spotty teenage person he used to be. "Well," he says. "I mean. You obviously are." 

The imposter shake his head. "No," he says. "I'm not. I'm not you. I'm not going to—" he makes a frustrated noise in his throat, like he's struggling to get the words out. "Listen, I'm gonna quit. I already decided before the universe decided to Freaky Friday me, or whatever." 

Yoongi goes cold all over. Chills run down his spine into his hands, and his stomach drops.

"What?" 

"I'm gonna fucking quit, okay?" The kid won't meet his eyes. "I'm not gonna do it, so obviously you're not me because... Yeah." 

"Don't do that," Yoongi says, too quickly. "Don't quit." 

The imposter snorts, crossing his arms, going all prickly and sharp. "Why the fuck should I listen to you? You're just a sad old sell out, gramps." 

The words are so pitiful a retort that Yoongi can't even get mad. 

"Yeah," he says. "Maybe I am. But don't you dare fucking leave Big Hit, kid. You'll regret it for the rest of your life." 

The kid narrows his eyes. "Oh yeah? Why should I stay? So I can sing and dance to someone else’s music like some puppet?" 

Hidden in the close aisles between the bulging racks of clothes, Yoongi closes his eyes and tries not to feel sick. He knows. He gets it, goddamnit. He was that close to quitting himself, and only Namjoon and Bang PD had reeled him back him from that precipice.

"That's not it?" The kid looks mean and angry and scared, and Yoongi is torn between wanting to punch him and giving him a hug. "No. That's not it. What? You're afraid of losing _him_?" He gestures brusquely towards the back of the store, where Jungkook is looking at some vintage Air Jordans. 

Those are keener words, and they cut. "No," Yoongi says, but he knows it for the lie it is. Everything about Jungkook is a jumble in his heart — a bright, warm, sweet jumble he isn't sure he wants to understand. He can't imagine being without it, even if this _whatever_ they have now is not exactly what he dreams of. 

The imposter snorts. "You're a hypocrite, old man," he says. "I'm supposed to be brave and tough it out, but you're too much of a coward even to admit to yourself how much you like him." 

That, at least, is not a lie. 

Yoongi scowls. "You don't know what we have to deal with—" 

"Doesn't matter," the kid says. "You're just a coward, Min Yoongi. That's all. If you weren't, you'd tell him." 

That cold feeling in Yoongi's gut goes sour. 

"I'm not—" 

"Hyung, Yoongi-ya," Jungkook says then, pushing through from the next aisle of clothing. "What are you two doing?" He notices the silk jacket, still in Yoongi's hand. "Oh, are you going to buy that? Try it on, hyung." 

Slowly, mechanically, Yoongi takes off his hoodie and smooths his tee shirt and pulls on the jacket. It is well cut and fits him perfectly. Jungkook runs his hands over Yoongi's shoulders, smoothing out some minuscule wrinkle. 

"Wow," he says. "Looking sharp, hyung." 

"Uh," Yoongi says, all twisty and hot and weird inside. "Thanks?" 

"You gonna get it?" Jungkook asks. 

The kid is watching them both, silent, scowling still, arms folded and hands tucked into his armpits, holding himself tight. 

"I don't know," Yoongi says. "Don't know where I would ever wear it." 

"I think you should get it," Jungkook says. "It looks really good on you." 

He meets Yoongi's gaze and he smiles, and Yoongi feels that confused sour twist of his belly gives way to that more familiar happy warm fuzz of feeling. 

"Oh," he says. "Yeah. Okay." 

"Nice," Jungkook says, laughing. "Now I don't feel quite so bad about springing for those Jordon 6s." 

He's got another ugly pair of sneakers in his hands. Yoongi hadn't even noticed — too damn busy at staring at Jungkook's stupid face. 

The imposter makes a noise of thinly disguised disgust. 

Yoongi reaches for Jungkook's sneakers. "Hyung will buy those for you, Jungkookie. My treat." 

Jungkook's eyes go wide. "Really? Wow. You're the best, Yoongi hyung!" He pulls Yoongi into a quick one-armed hug, and then bounds off towards the front of the store. 

"Lame," the imposter hisses. 

Yoongi hangs his head. There's nothing to say. 

******

They take the subway back to the dorm. It’s not a long trip, but things are strange and quiet. Yoongi feels like an idiot. The kid is sulky and annoyed. Only Jungkook seems content, surrounded by his bags of sneakers, playing a game on his phone. They sit on either side of him, a pair of unhappy bookends.

The thing is, Yoongi's not an idiot. He knows he's been nursing a crush on Jungkook. He doesn't know how it happened, exactly. He doesn't know when Jungkook stopped being that shy, sweet kid who tried so hard to make all his hyungs proud and started being... well. Confident. Funny. Charming. Jungkook is still that kid, but now he's something else, too. The strange juxtaposition of the two makes Yoongi's heart twist.

It's not some fucking revelation but none of the others have noticed. Nobody’s noticed, and Yoongi plans on ignoring his little thing for Jungkook and maybe taking vows eventually and becoming a monk if things get too bad. Nothing is going to come of it, anyway. He never plans on saying anything. There are a million reasons it's a bad idea: Jungkook and he are in the same group, and he's not even sure — although he has his suspicions — that Jungkook likes guys, and even if he does like guys what are the odds he'd go for Yoongi, who is short and slightly weird looking and unsociable and grumpy? 

Life is good right now, and Yoongi is happier than he's ever been. Bangtan is more successful than he ever dreamed, and he has the freedom to pursue other music on the side. He's seeing the world and living his dream. He doesn't need to rock the boat. So what if Jungkook makes him feel all warm and melted inside? So what if Yoongi has memorized all the little moles that speckle Jungkook's face — the one on his nose and the one right below his lip and the constellation of them on his cheek? So what? 

Yoongi has enough. He's not going to burn himself trying to reach out for some incandescent joy he doesn't even deserve. 

They get to their stop and get off. It is dark now. The imposter is walking with his head down, hood pulled up, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks so small next to Jungkook, and very alone. Yoongi remembers that feeling. If he were a better and a braver person, he would go up and put his arm around the kid's shoulder and console him. He would apologize and try to make the best of things because fuck, it's not like it's a walk in the park, waking up eight years in the future. 

But Yoongi is still that same scared kid, so he does nothing, just sticks his hands in his own pockets and walks quietly a few steps behind Jungkook, scuffing the toes of his sneakers against the dirty pavement. 

When they get back to the dorm, Yoongi retreats to his room, leaving Jungkook to supervise the imposter. He feels pathetic, but he’s tired and nervous. He puts on his headphones and works on this beat he’s been playing with for a little while, but he can’t concentrate. He ends up just lying on his bed with his eyes closed, not sleeping, trying hard not to think about anything. He can’t not think though. That’s always been his problem. He can’t turn off his brain so he just keeps going around and around in widening gyres. What’s wrong with the way things are now? Maybe it’s a bit cowardly, but what if he confesses to Jungkook and Jungkook laughs in his face? What if Jungkook rejects him and things are never the same? What the fuck are they going to do if this goddamn kid never goes away? 

Yoongi really will go join a monastery. This newer, bolder version can take his place. 

His stewing is interrupted by a knock at the door. 

"Yeah," he calls. 

Jimin pokes his head in. "Hyung," he says, frowning. 

"Jiminnie," Yoongi says. "What's up?" 

Jimin steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Of course it would be Jimin. He seems to think it is his personal mission to make sure all bad feelings are soothed away. Sometimes it's overbearing, but right now Yoongi is glad to see him. He hadn’t thought much of Jimin at first, all those years ago, but slowly they've become very close. 

Jimin sits down on the floor next to Yoongi's bed, looking up. "I don't like him," he mutters. 

"Who?" Yoongi sits up. 

"You... Not you. You know. The other Yoongi." 

"Oh," Yoongi says. He doesn’t like himself much either. "He's okay," he says. "He's just — I was just a punk kid." 

Jimin pouts, lower lip sticking out. "He doesn't know who I am. He said Taehyunggie and I were 'noisy brats'." 

Ah, of course. Yoongi chuckles. "Thankfully you were spared the worst of my teenage angst, Jimin-ah." 

Jimin rolls his eyes. "I don't know," he says. "You were pretty scary when I met you. I was terrified of you for the first year, I think." 

"Not you too,” Yoongi says. “That long? Really?" 

Jimin smiles. "Nah," he says. "Not that long, I guess. Not a whole year.”

Yoongi hopes it wasn’t that long. He hadn’t mean to come off as such an asshole. It had all just been so much. He’d put everything on the line to debut and the goddamn company kept changing the concept and bringing in all these bright eyed, handsome boys and trying to make Yoongi _dance_. He’d been overwhelmed and scared and that had made him mean.

He regrets it now. 

Jimin watches him quietly for a moment and then says, "Are you okay?" 

Yoongi squints. "Not sure," he says. 

Jimin nods. "It's weird." 

"Really fucking weird," Yoongi agrees. 

Jimin purses his lips. "You looked upset when you came back. Did something..." 

Yoongi shakes his head. "No," he says, too quickly. "No. He's just a little asshole, and he doesn't care that y'know. I'm him. Just shooting his mouth off." 

Yoongi remembers that feeling, remembers discovering how words could be sharpened into weapons. How he could lob those spears and pierce hearts, puncture egos. It had been thrilling then. 

"I don't think he's really you, hyung," Jimin says. "He's watching Kookie play Overwatch." 

Yoongi's distaste for video games is well known. He snorts. "He's me," Yoongi says darkly. The kid is just thinking with his dick instead of his brain. 

Jimin stands up and grabs Yoongi's hand, trying to pry him out of his comfortable nest of blankets. "Come hang out, hyung," he says. "We're going to order dinner." He smiles. "Maybe this is some kind of twenty four hour thing, like a stomach virus. Maybe he'll be gone in the morning." 

Yoongi, reluctant but hungry, lets himself be dragged upright. Jimin is strong and hard to resist. "Fine," he says. "Fine. Yeah. Maybe he'll be gone in the morning."

He doesn’t believe it, but it’s something to go on, at least.

They order chicken, as the unusual circumstances seem to warrant something out of the ordinary. The other Yoongi — the imposter — is in high spirits now. Apparently video games cheered him up. Yoongi doesn’t remember that. He's talkative and laughing, sitting at the other side of the table between Jungkook and Namjoon, amusing everyone with long-forgotten anecdotes about trainee life: the time the drain in the bathroom backed up and the entire room flooded (Yoongi had been furious at the time, because a pair of his headphones had gotten ruined. He’s not sure why they were in the bathroom to start with.), the time Namjoon had gotten locked out of the dorm wearing only a sweatshirt and his underwear, the time Hoseok had lost a bet and been forced to go to dance practice wearing a leotard and leg warmers, the time... 

It all seems so long ago now, and there is something sweet and simple about the too-eager way the kid recounts these stories. They loom much larger in his small world: a world bounded by the terrible, grinding routine of practice, practice, work, and more practice. There are no music show wins for him yet, no daesangs, no going to the fucking American Music Awards. 

"Guess you guys don't have to worry about that kind of thing anymore," the imposter says, leaning back in his chair, after he's done relating the story of the flooded bathroom. "Guess you guys have it easy these days." 

There's a weird moment. The seven of them exchange awkward looks. They all love what they do but it is not by any stretch of the imagination easy. It has been a few years since Yoongi has had to scrub a bathroom floor, but his knees still ache. 

"Ahh," Namjoon says, laughing. "Yoongi-ah, easy? You have no idea how much they make me dance." 

It's just the right thing to say. Namjoon knows him way too well. Knew him then, and knows him now. The imposter snorts. "You, dance? I don't believe it." 

"Hey, I'm pretty good now," Namjoon protests. "Not as good as you, but..." 

The imposter snorts. "Me? Good? Come on." 

Right. Yoongi remembers those days. Bang PD had made it out like the dance thing was just an aside. Just learn the choreo, he’d said. Once you’re better established we’ll go a different route. Fuck. He'd been so ready to believe that. He'd been so ready to believe anything that got him closer to... 

What? 

Back then, he'd mostly just wanted _money_. Enough money to support his dreams. Enough money so that he didn't end up choked to death by boredom in some tedious office job. The rest of it had come slowly, and later. 

"Show him, hyung," Jimin says, tugging at Yoongi's sleeve. 

"Ehhh," Yoongi mutters. "No way." He knows exactly what eighteen year old Min Yoongi thinks about idols and dancing, and he's not going to make an idiot out of himself. 

"Come on, hyung," Jungkook says, with that wheedling tone in his voice he sometimes get. "You're so good. Just for a second?" 

Fuck. Jungkook's eyes are all big and liquid and his smile is too wide. Yoongi can't resist that. 

He sighs mightily and heaves himself up out of his seat. The thing is, he's really not a bad dancer. He's not good, of course, not Jimin or Jungkook or Hoseok's level. But he's not bad — not bad enough to warrant the smug, amused look that the imposter is giving him. 

He stands up straight, trying to recapture the loose, liquid feeling that every once in a while will seep into his bones and make movement feel like a pleasure instead of a chore. Hosoek must feel like that all of the time, but for Yoongi it's like trying to bottle lightning. Conditions aren't ideal right now, either. He's tired and a little sore still from yesterday and his belly is full of fried chicken. Still. He's worked really fucking hard, harder than this punk kid version of himself can even imagine. He's got to have something to show for it. 

So. Fine. He closes his eyes and starts to move. He's not doing anything special, just the highlight of their new title track. It's what they've been practicing, and it's not even like he's got it down yet. He screws up some of the footwork — he knows Hoseok will have caught that — and totally fucks up the transition into the turn. He finishes in a crouch, one foot in front of the other, hands flat on the ground. 

Oh well. At least he didn't totally embarrass himself. 

Jungkook and Jimin applaud. Taehyung hoots. 

Yoongi, still in his crouch, smothers a grin. Then he stands up and smirks and dusts off his shoulders. 

"Gonna have to make me an honorary member of the dance line soon," he drawls. 

Seokjin snorts. Namjoon rolls his eyes. 

Hoseok says, "Eh, but you forgot the step to the side before —" 

Yoongi sighs. "I know, I know. Can't you let a man dream, Hoseok?" 

Hoseok laughs. "I'm so sorry, hyung. I'll make it up to you. Personal dance lessons!" 

Yoongi groans and throws a balled up napkin at him. It lands in Jimin's lap, who lobs it back at its intended destination. There's a momentary scuffle as Hoseok and Taehyung try to put a napkin down Jimin's shirt. Seokjin eggs them on. Namjoon ineffectually tries to break it all up, until a napkin lands on him and he recoils. 

"I think you did great, hyung," Jungkook says softly, laying a hand on Yoongi's shoulder. "You're so good." 

He's smiling that too wide smile again, the one that makes those happy lines appear at the corner of his eyes.

"Stop talking shit," Yoongi says. 

"I'm not!" Jungkook protests, laughing. "I mean it! You and Hobi hyung. Dance leaders!" 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but he can't help but smile. He feels his chest do that stupid weird fluttery kind of thing, like something is racing and alive in there. 

Jungkook pats him on the head (punk) and then goes over to try to help Taehyung in his torment of Jimin. 

When Yoongi looks up again, the imposter is watching him, mouth twisted in a frown and eyes dark. They stare at each other for a moment, distorted mirror images, and then the imposter looks away, down at the ground.

***** 

"Okay," Yoongi says, digging around in his dresser. "Here." He shoves a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt at the imposter. 

He'd protested, but obviously it made the most sense for the imposter to sleep with him. Hoseok and Jimin are already sharing a room and y'know. The kid _is_ him. At least he knows the pajamas will fit. 

They change with their backs to each other. Yoongi finds him a spare toothbrush and shows him the bathroom. He comes back all red faced and shiny and looking very, very young. 

"We have to be up early," Yoongi says. "So I'm gonna turn in." Their little vacation is over. He has no idea what they’re going to do with the kid tomorrow. He has to trust in Namjoon to figure that out. 

"That's fine," the other Yoongi says. "I'm pretty exhausted. I guess time travel will do that to you." 

The kid gets under the covers on one side of the bed. Yoongi shuts off the light and gets under the covers on the other. The kid's feet are cold, just like Yoongi's feet. They are Yoongi's feet, though, so that makes sense. 

He stares up at the blank black of the ceiling. It's quieter here, in this new dorm, and the city noises are distant. He likes that, but he misses the noise too. It’s weird sleeping with someone else, even like this. It’s been a long time, and he doesn’t like the way he can feel Yoongi moving, shifting uneasily. Sleep doesn’t come easily for him, not now, not then. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

His voice is loud and discordant. 

“No,” Yoongi says. 

“Guess fame and fortune don’t cure insomnia, huh?” 

“No,” Yoongi says again, quietly. 

They lie quietly beside each other for an almost intolerable period of time. 

Then the other Yoongi sits up. “Fuck,” he says. “I need a cigarette.” 

Oh right. “I quit,” Yoongi says. “Years ago now.” 

“Jesus,” the kid says. He gets out of bed, stumbling over discarded shoes in the dark. 

“Where are you going?” Yoongi sits up too. 

“I really need a cigarette,” he mutters. “There’s gotta be a convenience store around here, right?” 

Yoongi breathes in. He closes his eyes. He remembers the soothing click-swish of the lighter and the rich dry flavor of that first inhale. “You’re not going anywhere by yourself.” 

Downstairs, outside, the night is warm. They walk in silence towards the little convenience store down the street. Yoongi feels sluggish and deeply exhausted, as if weights tied to his feet make each step a burden. This isn’t a busy neighborhood, but there are cars on the streets and people out and about. Signs of life. He feels half dead, like in bringing the kid here he gave up half his own vitality. 

As if this is anything he wanted in the first place. 

He gives the kid his wallet and his ID and then waits outside. Somewhere nearby, a car horn blares. Sirens and clamor. The night is unquiet. If they don’t go to sleep tonight, when is the kid going to go back home? 

The kid comes out with his pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He peels off the plastic wrapper and taps the pack a few times against his palm. Then he takes a cigarette and the holds the pack out to Yoongi. 

For a moment he considers (what a balm that habit had been, back then) but… no. 

The kid just shrugs. He puts the cigarette in his mouth and then flicks the lighter. He cups one hand and then brings it to the cigarette. Weird orange light dances over his features. It’s he looks like a stranger. Yoongi’s not used to looking at himself, and he doesn’t like it. 

When the kid’s cigarette is lit he takes a long drag and then exhales. The cloud of smoke rises through the night.

“What made you quit?” 

“Huh?” 

“Smoking. What made you quit? The company? They told you to settle down and be a good little idol?” 

Yoongi snorts. “No. Fuck. That shit’s bad for you. Bad for your voice.” 

The kid shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“What do you mean? Of course it is. You should quit too. Well. You’re going to, soon.” 

The kid narrows his eyes. He exhales smoke through his nose. It hangs in the damp air. 

“What makes you so sure I’m you?” He asks again.

Yoongi laughs. “Who the fuck else would you be?” 

The kid shrugs. “Already told you I’m gonna leave Big Hit. So.”

Chills down the back of Yoongi’s neck. “Why?” 

“Don’t want to do it,” the kid says. He crouches down, taps the ash off the end of his cigarette. 

“Bullshit,” Yoongi says too quickly. “You want it more than anything in the world.” 

He is quiet for a long time. He can’t deny it. Yoongi knows the kid’s heart as well as he knows his own. Better. He has whatever scant wisdom time has granted him on his side.

“Ikje hyung left. Hunchul hyung is gonna leave.” He sounds younger, now. Scared. He closes his eyes. “Why did you stay?” 

Yoongi can’t answer, exactly. He won’t tell this poor kid how close he came to walking away: poor and tired and hurt in body and soul. He won’t tell him how angry he was at being made to dance and pose and do pretty boy idol shit. He won’t tell him how hard it was even after debut, during those long grinding first two years when it felt at times like every single one of his doubts was being confirmed, that he’d made some terrible mistake.

This kid will figure all of that out on his own. 

“For Namjoon,” Yoongi says. “At first. Then, for all of them.” 

The kid stubs his cigarette out. 

“You love them,” the kid says. “I could tell earlier.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. 

“All of them.” 

“They’re my family.”

The kid nods. “I’m scared.” His voice is young and faint. 

Yoongi sits down next to him. The curb is damp and cold on his ass. He stretches his legs out. His knees pop. He bumps his shoulder against the kid’s. “You know what?” 

The other Yoongi looks at him, eyes wide. “What?” 

“I’m scared too.” 

The kid watches him, quiet, corners of his mouth turned down. “Yeah,” he says. He brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. “Are you ever gonna tell him? Jungkook, I mean.” 

Yoongi rubs the toe of his shoe against the asphalt. “Dunno. Maybe.” 

“He likes you, too,” the kid says.

Yoongi snorts. “Don’t kid yourself, kid.” 

“Nah,” the other Yoongi says. “The way he looks at you…” He shrugs. “Maybe I’m wrong. Wouldn’t be the first fucking time.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. Wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last. They have a whole lifetime of fuck-ups to look forward to.

 

“You have to be up for practice,” the kid says. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. 

The kid steps his cigarette out and gets up. “Let’s go,” he says. “You need your sleep, old man.” 

“Punk,” Yoongi says, fondly. 

The kid smiles. He holds out a hand. Yoongi takes it. 

****** 

In the morning Yoongi wakes alone. The other side of the bed is rumpled, but the sheets are cold.

The kid is gone.

Morning sunlight sneaks in behind the blinds. Huh. He must have slept through his alarm. He’s surprised Namjoon didn’t drag him out of bed. 

He half falls out of bed and manages to get upright. The dorm is quiet. Nobody’s in the living room. Jimin and Hoseok’s room is empty, door ajar. Hmm. In the kitchen, someone is sitting at the table. Oh fuck. 

“Hyung?” 

It’s just Jungkook. Thank god. 

“Hey, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says. 

“He’s gone?” Jungkook asks, looking concerned. 

Yoongi nods, dropping heavily into the chair across the table. 

“Good,” Jungkook says, emphatically. 

“Why so happy? Thought you liked the little punk.” 

Jungkook ducks his head in this weird evasive movement. His nose wrinkles. “He was okay,” he says. “Kind of annoying.” 

Yoongi huffs. “You’re one to talk.” 

Jungkook shrugs. “I mean, he was fine. I just like you better, hyung.” 

“Oh,” Yoongi says. 

Jungkook smiles at him, beaming, brilliant. 

Likes him better as in— 

Fuck. This is exactly where Yoongi always gets all backwards and muddled up. He _thinks_ he knows what Jungkook means, but there’s always that niggling worm of doubt that maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Jungkook doesn’t mean it like that at all. If Yoongi were even a quarter as brave and confident as he pretends to be on stage, he’d just ask, but… 

The other Yoongi is gone, but he is still that scared boy in so many ways. 

_Be brave._

It sounded a lot easier when he told the kid. 

_You’ll regret it for the rest of your life._

He’s not an idiot. No matter what the kid said about the way Jungkook looks at him, he knows the odds aren’t in his favor. What are the chances that Jungkook feels the same way that he does? Not good. Still...

Be brave, Min Yoongi. 

“When you say like, ” Yoongi says slowly, “do you mean…?” 

Jungkook’s cheeks go pink, and he stares down at the table. “I like you better, hyung,” he says quietly. “Better than that other Yoongi. Better than anyone, honestly.” 

“Oh,” Yoongi says, feeling a little faint. 

Jungkook looks up and smiles at him, and it is brighter than the sun. 

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks “You’re not just humoring me because I’m your hyung? I mean, I’m kind of an asshole and my sleep schedule is fucked and I’m short and I am still terrified I’m going to fuck everything up with—-” 

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, sharply. 

“What?” 

“Shut up,” Jungkook says. He gets to his feet then, and he is standing right in front of Yoongi, hair rumpled and pajamas askew and .. perfect. Pretty much perfect. 

Time traveling is one thing, but Jungkook? Likes him? He can’t suspend his disbelief that far. Yoongi is about to say so, about to ask when the hidden camera is going to be revealed, but before he can open his mouth and shove his foot in it again, Jungkook leans forward and silences Yoongi with a kiss. 

One of Jungkook’s hands comes up to Yoongi’s neck. His lips are a little chapped and he’s a bit overeager. Still. Yoongi can’t remember the last time felt anything half as good as this.

When Jungkook pulls away, his cheeks are red. Yoongi’s might be redder. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have to look at his own ugly mug anymore. “I feel another round of doubt coming on,” he says, feeling dazzled, feeling dazed. “You might want to kiss me again to make sure I stay quiet.” 

Jungkook laughs and makes sure Yoongi has nothing else to say and no doubt at all about what’s in Jungkook’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/roebling_writes)!


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